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PIQUE AND PASSION. 



A COMEDY-DRAMA 

IN 

Three Acts, 

BY / 
FENNIMORE HARRISO 



N. 



NEW ORLEANS 
1883. 



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Sheridan True Jr.; 



Or, 



PIQUE AND PASSION. 



A COMEDY-DRAMA 

IN 

Three Acts, 






BY 




FENNIMORE HARRISON. 



NEW ORLEANS: 

M. J. SCOTT, 405 MAGAZINE STEEET. 
1883. 



.21 



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COPYRIGHTED, 1883, 

T>xr 

FENNIMORE HARRISON, au 



TMPS6-00o405 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



SHERIDAN TRUE, ... A „ 

,_.^ ' -4 Dramatist. 

MADAME CELESTE HAUTEUX, - ^ TOW , u*o fWoBtalM in mfml 

ADRIAN MARCELLE, - . . Wh „ -a 000 f , 

' - - Who flees from home . 

-LILLIAN, „ , . . 

_ ' _ True's sister. 

JJKANK CLAIR, - . . A Lieutenant in the National Guards 

™* FKEBE ACrmc and Beporter] 

DOCTOR QUIET, wtm es 

NELL, m J7 " 

„■._?„ ' Trues aesthetic maul. 
MAURICE HAUTEUX, ^ 

SHERIDAN TRUE Jb - , • , 

^^ iitu,J2i ' «»"•» - An uninvited guest. 

RODERICK MILES - - ***'*-•, 

„,,„,« °' " - - -4 theatrical manager. 

JERROLD QUIZ, ...... at n i 

T»«-^r, ^~ -4 landlord. 
MRS. POSITIVE, - 



REV. MR. DIMITRY, 



Matron of St. Therese Hospital, Metz 
Who objects, -hinder the circumstances." 



Time. 



Act J Paris. 

AcT H Metz. 

Act III PariSi 

• • • -Just after the close of the Franeo-Prussian War 



ACT I. 
SCENE-The parlor of Sheridan True's house, Paris. It is the night of 

a marriage ceremony, and the parlor presents an appropriate 
and handsome appearance. 

Enter Nell, with flowers in her hand. 
Nell. Flowers, flowers, flowers ! I have been arranging them all 
the afternoon for-whom ?-Some stranger, I suppose-some 
lady, perhaps. It is now evening, and Mr. True has not 
returned. Well, then, something strange will happen to- 
night. I am sure. I wonder what it will be? Can it be a 
marriage? Oh, no I he is a bachelor. The idea ! Whoever 
beard of a bachelor's marrying on the sly-oh, on the sly? 



3 

Perhaps that is it. We shall see. I am curious to know 

what has kept him away so long (the bell rings). Some 

body at the bell: a visitor, I warrant (peeps ontat a door). 

Yes, a lady in black, heavily veiled. She is coining. I 

wonder who it is ? 

Enter Madame Hauteux. 
Rant. This, I understand, is Mr. Sheridan Trues reside ce ? 
Nell. It is, Madame. It has just been fitted up. 
Haut. Here is my card, I wish to see him at once. 
Nell. Indeed, you cannot. He is not here. 
Hant. Not here ? — (aside) Then I must find it out from her. 
(lifts her veil). 
Nell. Oh, Madame Hauteux!— I did not even know your voice, 

it has changed so. 
Haut. You are surprised then ? — Come, Nell, why did you leave 

my employ— Why did you all leave me? Did you not like 

my salon ? 
Nell; I liked your place very much, Madame, and would have 

staid there with you, — but— I also liked Mr. Sheridan True. 

Wherever he goes, I go. 
Haut. Silly girl ! — But look- these flowers, Nell — Wuat do they 

mean ? 
Nell (aside). How wildly she talks ! — That is a secret, Madame. 

And yet I have known you so long, I will tell you. I think 

it is his wedding night. 
Haut. His wedding night? — (reflects) Ah, yes, I have heard so. 

Nell, here is a letter of mine which I wish you to deliver to 

Mr. True this evening, in case I do not see him. It is a let- 
ter of congratulation and good wishes. Will you forget it? 
Nell. Never, Madame; I will put it where he will be sure to 

find it, on his mantle-piece (goes to a door). 
Haut. Now tell me, Nell, who is this woman that has charm ?d 

his fancy and drawn him away so suddenly? 
Nell. Indeed, L could not tell you, Madame. I have never seen 

her, — (aside) She is piqued, at something I am sure (exit). 



4 
Haut She does not know. What if I be wroug? — I? No, 110, 
'tis impossible! Wroug? — My mind wanders! — Surely, I have 
seen him with her — and he has played me false! The man 
whose life I guarded through a siege of pain and suffering — 
whom my devotion saved from death — this man, Sheridan 
True, has turned his back upon his benefactress, and pledged 
his hand and honor to auother ! Then let it be. This sudden 
change in him has wrought a swifter change in me, and love,' 
when it is scorned, can turn upon its idol and dash it down 
And so I will. I will meet them face to face, and over-turn 
their plans. I will harass both of them. I will drive this 
woman from his doors, and make this place as desolate as 

mine! {exit) 

Re-enter Nell. 

Nell. Gone ! Well, I a?n glad of it. I wo tde~ what she means 
by coiniug here and frightening me? Womei are such unrea- 
sonable creatures when they are miserable, nothing satisfies 
them but that they must try and make everybody else so. 
And how did she hear of this marriage? Oh, yes! I remem- 
ber now : 'Twas yesterday, or the day before, that Mr. True 
requested a friend of hers, the Rev. Mr. Dimitry to be here to- 
night on important business- as he called it — and from him ' 
no doubt, she learned it. — There ! I hear footsteps again. 
Nearer and nearer {goes to a door). Now, Maurice, what is it 
brings you here to-night? You know I don't want to see you. 

Maurice (in the doorway). Pardon me, Nell, pardon me. I know 
you don't care a straw for me— (takes her hand). 

Nell. Go away, I will tell on you. 

Maurice. Tell on me ? Who is there to till ? 

Nell. Your aunt, Mala m Hmteux. She was here just now. 

Maurice. My aunt here ? (looks around) Away from Metz ? — If sh e 
knew that I was here with you, she would never forgive me. 
She is very anxious for im to nurry an heiress — 

Nell. Oh! 

Maurice. Whifc is the mitta-, Nell ?— 



o 

Nell. You know, Maurice, I have been unwell during the past 
hour or two. But do go, Mr. True will be here presently. 

Maurice. I say, Nell, there is to be a wedding here to night. 

Nell. Pray, how C id you find that out ? 

Maurice. Look at this pretty parlor: that tells the tale. 

Nell. Indeed, Maurice, you must and shall go. No refusal ! 

Maurice. I say, Nell, there is to be a costly supper aft. r the 
ceremony — the finest in Paris— save me some of the wed- 
ding cake 

Nell. Maurice, I will uot have you here ! 

Maurice {at the door in the background). Nell, oh Nell, I shall 
wait you at the garden gate: briug it there— the wedding 

cake (exit). 

Nell. He provokes me much. He will linger at the gate now, 
and talk to every passerby in the street, and — oh ! I never 
thought of it! He may report that Mr. True is married, 
which ." ould be false (runs to the door). He is gone ! — just in 
lime, too; for my master, Mr. Sheridan True, is actually com- 
ing with —with— my ! — with a lady. It must be an elope- 
ment. Now for that letter (exit). 

Enter Siieridan True with Adrian Marcelle, icho evinces 
some excitement at first. 

True Now, Adrian, we are safe in Paris, and your uucle, 
George Marcelle, may follow if he likes. But I hardly 
think he will take such a course to-night. 

Adrian. Oh. 1 hope not! But then he may, and if he should 

come— 
True. I will send him back to Metz without you. I have no 
fancy for your uncle, though he is your only relative. 

Adrian. Yes — he is: but I am quite willing to leave him in 
Metz, I am sure ; and I hope he will always stay away from 
here. 
True. You may be sure of that. He will certainly remain 
away, provided you exercise a woman's traditional author- 
ity in her own house, and I have no doubt you will. 



G 

Adrian. We shall see at any rate. He is such a crabbed, 
headstrong old bachelor. 

True. Crabbed?— so he is: but is that a characteristic of every 
bachelor ? 

Adrian. Oh, no! of course not. You are not a bachelor any lon- 
ger, and your friends must give you up. 

True I suppose they must, as I have torn myself away from 
them. To night, their curiosity will be excited, I know. 
They will marvel at my sudden disappearance, and when 
the members of the "Bachelors' Club" of Paris, hear of my 
desertion — 

Adrian. "Bachelors' Club?'' — And do you belong to such J 
club as that ? 

True I? Yes, Adrian, I do, — I am the President of it. I 
haven't spoken to you about it lately because — er — I had an 
idea it would be an awkward confession to make. Several 
years ago I was instrumental in forming it ; but that is no 
reason why I should not follow the example of other presi- 
dents — and abscond, as it were. Do you think so ? 

Adrian. iN T o, indeed : you are very courageous. Your friends 
will choose another President, I am sure, and then I shall 
invite them here. May I ? 

True. Certainly. I shall invite them all, and specially my 
friend, Madame Rtrntens.— (aside) I wonder how I am getting 
on? 

Adrian (suddenly), Madame Hauteux, your pretty landlady ? a 
have heard strange things of her; I should like to know 
her. 

True. And you shall. She befriended me when I first came to 
Paris, Adrian. I was ill at her house for a long time, and 
when I recovered just two weeks ago, and came to this new 
residence, she seemed to take it to heart— 

Adrian. Indeed ! —That was strange. Does she like you ? 

True. As a friend, she does. She saved my life, Adrian, and 
that is why I cannot forget her. 



t 

Adrian. Oh, well, you should in turn befriend her - but— 

True (aside, ivith a smile). Adrian is jealous ! — 

Adrian. What was I going to say ? 

True Something ridiculous, I dare say. — Oh, no, I spoke of her 
pleasantly just now. because i; occurred to me, at the mo- 
ment, that I ought not to have left her house so suddenly. 
That was all. Her portrait, life-size, is hanging over the 
mantle in the dining room now. 

Adrian. It is? I shall go and study her features, till you call 
me presently (goes to a door: True follows her). 

True. Now, Adrian, you like your new home, do you not? 

Adrian. How could you ask me such a question? Everything is 
as novel as it is beautiful. 

True. And you are happy here? 

Adrian. Oli, perfectly happy! — Goodbye (exit;. 

True. I am alone -yes, alone, and the novelty of my position 
comes home to my consciousness. I will sit down at once 
and write my letter of resignation as President of the ''Bach- 
elors' Club" of Paris. By the way, this is not the time to do 
that. 1 have something much more important to attend to 
(calls). Nellie! Nellie! (Nell enters and delivers the letter) 
Ah, you have a letter for me. 

Nell. He hasift come yet, Mr. True. 

True (surprised). You mean the Rev. Mr. Dlmitry? 

Nell. Yes, sir. 

True. It is ten minutes after the time, and f am still a bachelor. 
(quaintly) Nell, you must move around briskly no v, you 
hear ? 

Nell. Yes, sir. 

True. And never let the Madame call you twice, bear that in 
mind, too. 

Nell. Yes, sir. 

True. Bun on now : the Madame will be after you presently 
(exit Nell; opens the letter). Let me see— from Madame 
Hauteux! Singular. It is a letter of congratulation, too ! I 



wonder how she heard of my intended marriage? I have been 
under tbe impression that it was a profound secret. I see 
too, that she has moved away from Paris and gone to Metz 
within the past two weeks. That is a strange notion, to be 
sure. I am sorry for it, because I take an unusual interest 
id this woman— a young, pretty, haughty woman, whose 
eyes flash strangely sometimes (he turns, and sees her 
standing in the doorway, in the background). Ah, Mad. 
aiue, come in; I am very happy to see you agaiu (he goes 
to her, and leads her to the center. She accompanies him 
rather unconcernedly). 

Hauteux. Your welcome seems to be very cordial, Mr. True — 

and so you still remember me ? 
True. Indeed, Madame, I shall always remember you, and 

though you have moved away to Metz, you shall of en find 

me there, be sure of that. 
Hauteux. Perhaps I shall — when occasion brings you thither. 
True. And meantime, I shall take great care of what you gave 

me — the portrait, which is hanging over the mantle in the 

dining room. 

Hauteux. Indeed ! — That is complimentary {with some sur- 
prise). 

True. And when I walk before it, to and fro, its conscious eyes 

look down, and seem to follow me like living eyes. 
Hauteux. It must be unpleasant. I do not like to be watched 

even by a portrait (True pauses a moment in thought). 
True. No. It makes one feel as though his secret thoughts 

were passing under scrutiny, aud so, in spite of us, the critic 

over the mantle wields an actual influence. 
Hauteux. Critic?— Ah, yes, I understand you. That is 

rather sentimental, I think ; but it is easily accounted for — 

when one remembers how greatly you have changed in two 

short weeks. 



9 
True. Changed !— Oh, no, Madame, I thiuk I have remained the 

same throughout : I am still thoroughly American. * 
Hauteux. Yes— thoroughly.— 'Twas yesterday, I believe that I 
heard a strange report about you on the streets— yesterday ! 
Trite. About me ? (reflects) Now you call it to my mind. You 
have heard, no doubt, of the success of my play at the 
theatre. Well, Madame, to be candid with you, it was 
strange. i a 

Hauteux. You think it was ?— {after a pause) Well, perhaps 
your merits entitle you to succeed. — Ah ! I see : you have 
been reading my letter. That is strange! Did it surprise 
you? 
True. I may say it did, Madame 5 but it was a very pleasant 
surprise from an old friend, and you are always welcome 
here. You are happil in time to-night for the ceremony, 
too. 
Hauteux. That is fortunate, indeed. It is well I came ; I would 
not have nrissiV. it. — Where is she— this— young bride? -Is 
she present ? Or do you permit anyone to see her H 
True. Anyone, Madame (takes her hand: she rises with alacrity). 
Come with me, and I will introduce you at once to Adrian 
Marcelle— 
Hauteux. Ah ! Adrian f 
True. That is her name. Now, Madame, let us walk in here 

and see her together. 
Hauteux. I .shall make use of the opportunity, Mr. True; but 

yoa need not come ; there is hardly any need "of it (exit) 
True (pained). She treats me very coldly!— I deseive it. — It is 
all because 1 did not invite her to this wedding. I should 
have done so : it was wrong in me —icrong to neglect her af- 
ter all her months of kindness to me. I wrtl not be me in ! 1 



* As will be seen further ou, True was for a number of years the 
Paris correspondent of an American journal — who subsequently be- 
came a dramatist in a foreign land. This, I confess, is a stretch of 
the imagination, when it is remembered thatan American can scarce- 
ly become a dramatist in his own country. 



II) 

will go and apologize at once (goes toward the door. The 
bell rings) Ah! there is the bell. Who cau that be 11 , (calls) 
Nellie ! Nellie ! (Nell enters) Run to the door and see who 
that is. (exit Nell) Some visitor coming here '? That is omin- 
ous, inauspicious. What am I to do ? I cant postpone this 
ceremony till the morning (Nel! enters and delivers a card). 
"Lieut. Frank Clair, of the National Guards.'' What can he 
want in Pans so early after the war ?— Nell, show him in 
(exit Nell). He is my brother-in-law, and I shall now hear 
news of the whereabouts of my sister. 

Enter Lieut. Frank Clair. — Nell Retires. 
Ah, Lieutenant, this is a warrior's return. What brings 

you back to Paris ? 

Clair. Off duty, Sheridan, off duty. The war has closed at last, 
and France is now shakiug the dust from off her ruffled 
plumage. Oh, those Prussians — cold, dull, and plethoric, 
as you say — are a deception and a snare, my friend : they 
move swiftly enough when there is occasion for it. 

True. I am glad to see that jou have a better opinion of them 
now than you had before. 

Clair. My sentiments have been modified somewhat by experi- 
ence. — But, sir, have you not moved into a very secluded 
part of Paris "l I have been at my wits' end to find your resi- 
dence. 

True. Yes. I have moved since last we met. This is my home. 

Clair (looking at him inquisitively). Yours ? Aha ? — It is very 
cozy, indeed, for a bachelor. And now, Sheridan, tell 
me, where is my wife, your sister ? 
True. Your wife ? I do not understand you. 

Clair. Yes, my wife. I have been half distracted with grief 
for months. 

True. You do not mean to tell me, Lieutenant, that your wife 
has been separated from you during the war? Come, 
come — 



11 

Clair. I do! Have you no information to give me ? 

True. None. I expected that of you. You surprise me. Over 
a year ago you married my sister Lillian, and since then I 
have not been able to learn anything of her. 

Clair. Nor I: not a solitary word have I heard. Why you re- 
member it well. We were married at the salon of Mad - 
ame Hauteux more than a year ago. Three mouths after- 
wards, we went to Metz, on a travelling tour, and while 
there, the war broke out. I was at once made an officer in 
the French army, and leaving my wife in Metz, as I thought, 
for a week or two, I went on duty near the lines. A band 
of Prussian skirmishers surprised us, aud I was taken pris- 
oner, ouly a few days after my departure. All communi- 
cations were cutoff, and it was three months before I was 
able to return to Metz. But she was gone! I plunged 
again into the war to drown my wretchedness in the din of 
battle, and here am I once more in Paris, in quest of the 
woman who has so mysteriously disappeared. 

True. That is a touching story, Lieutenant. It sounds like a 
dream. 

Clair. Not a dream, a nightmare. 

True. But cheer up : dream or nightmare, it will pass away as 
all dreams do, and give place to happiness and reality. We 
shall find her bye and-bye, and I shall help you. — To- 
night, Lieutenant, you are fortunate enough to be in time to 
witness an episode in my own life. 

Clair. An episode in your life H Anything remarkable, Sheri- 
dan? 

True. Yes, rather remarkable. Do you notice these flowers, 
and the tasteful setting of the parlor? What -well, what 
do you suppose has caused this transformation scene? 

Clair (after due reflection). A woman !— Oh, Sheridan ! — 

True (aside). He seems to be surprised. How will my friends 
take it ? 

Clair. Where is she ? I can't believe all this, (they withdraw 



12 

into the background, while Adrian enters). 

Adrian {advancing). What a strange, weird story she has been 
telling me! It makes me shiver to think of it (falls to 
thinking). 

True (aside to Clair). Do yon recognize her ? 

Clair. I do. She lived in Paris up to a year ago, and then 
went to Metz. 

True. Go and talk to her Lieutenant, till I return (exit). 

Adrian. And her eyes — how strangely they flash! I wonder 
what it all means? 

Clair (advancing). You do not remember me, Miss Adrian ? 

Adrian. Oh, yes, Mr. (Jlair, I remember yon well. I am 
h$»ppyto see you safe in Paris again. 

Clair. Lieutenant Clair, since last we met, Miss Adrian. 

Adrian. Ah, a Lieuteutant? — What is it brings you to Pans 
again? (At this point, the Rev. Mr. Dimitry appears in the 
doorway in Ihe background for a moment or two. Not wishing 
to interrupt, he retires.) 

Clair. Everything, to be brief. 

Adrian. And of course you have brought Lillian with you? 

Clair. No, I have not. She was last iu Metz — 

Adrian. In Metz? She might have called on me, I am sure. 

Clair. I wish she had, Miss Adrian ; but I dare say she did not 
know you lived there, aud she has never met you. Jt would 
have been a happy thing for me, indeed, if she had 
Strange things happen sometimes in every one's experience, 
and, to-night, there is, I believe, a vein of romance iu your 
own life, Miss Adrian. I judge, for instance, that your 
uncle, George Marcellc, will not be present at your wed- 
ding to-night. 

Adrian. No, he will not be. iou know him well: he is big- 
oted, he is fanatical, he loves no creed save that of Boine, 
and hates the name American— and I — 

Clair. Love an American. There : s the rub. Well, marry the 
man of your choice, whether his native laud be France or 



free America. I see it all: you hare left your uncle at 
home, Miss Adrian. Come, do not oast your eyes down, but 
be merry on your wedding night . 

Adrian. I am merry, Lieutenant —I think I am. 

Clair. At any rate, yon shall be presently. This must not only 
be a union, but a reunion. There ! let us walk, Miss Adrian, 
and recall former pleasant incidents together {exeunt). 

Maurice ( Thrusting his head in at the door, and looting 
around.) I saw them go in! They are married I warrant 
(peeps in at another door). I wonder if they have had sup- 
per yet {listens ). Not a sound from the table. All is still, 
even the gurgling ot wine (whispers so as to be heard). Nell, 
oh Nell, I am tired of waiting at the garden gate. But I'll 
be there, Nell, I'll be there. So bring the wedding cake, 
please [exit). 

Enter Nell. 

Neil. I am sure I heard somebody whisper. "Nell, Nell,'' is 
ringing in my ears.— Oh! it was that wretched Maurice, with 
more curiosity than a woman has. (looking out) I woader if 
it was not Maurice ! I really do not care a straw about it 
one way or the other— only I should like to know (across 
the stage, outside the door, the Rev. Mr. Dimitrg is seen to 
pass sloH-hj). There he is at laist! I will warn Mr. True. 
(goes to a door, as True enters). 

Enter True in Full 'Dress. 

True (talking rapidly). Everything is ready, and I am in glori- 
ous spirits. Now Nell— Ah ! there is the bell again. Anoth- 
er visitor! Bun and see who it is (exit Nef/). Another, and 
another and another! It seems to me I am not to lie mar- 
ried at all to-night— merely because of the front door bell. 
And if it should be the old gentleman himself— what a pan- 
demonium there might be !— For the sake of domestic tran. 
quillity I hope it is not (listening). No, it is some one else. It 
is— [innocently) Who is it, NelH (Nell enters, bearing in her 
arms a little child.) 



14 

Nell. Oh, Mr. True, what a pretty little child ! 

True (with frank surprise). A little child ?— Ah, yes ! wheri did 

he come from, Nellie 1 
Nell. Why a lady at the gate requested me to bring him in, 

* and present him to you ! 
True (astonished, but pleased). To me ? —As a wedding gift ! 
Nell. I suppose so, sir. 

True (touching him quaintly). Why, he's alive, Nell ! Isn't he? 
Nell. Yes, sir. — How beautiful he is, Mr. Trae ! 
True. Ant! how calm and happy he looks ! I wish I were as 

happy, Nell, but I am not.— No, no, you must take him 

back, and tell the lady it is a mistake. 
Nell. Very well, sir, I will go. (exit) 
True. Whee ugh! The night is getting romantic— extremely 

romantic. I shall be a hero before morning, and yet I feel 

unpleasantly heroic already. This is a compliment to me, 

extraordinary compliment, but I am unworthy of it. (sees 

Madame Rauteux entering.) Well, Madame, I hope you like 

my new residence? 
Hauteux. Oh, yes— quite well.— Look at the pictures, (points 

at the wall) You have numbers of them. I like them more 

than anything I have seen, except — 
True. Adrian. 
Hauteux. Yes. I am very fond of her already.— But did you 

not say she came from Metz ? (reflects) Ah, yes, I remember; 

you did say so. Where is she now ?— or shall I bring her in 

for you ? 
True. If you please, Madame, (she goes to a door at once, stops 

there a moment, and then returns suddenly. ) 
Hauteux. Do you really wish me to bring her in ? 
True. It will trouble you, perhaps. Let me go myself — 
Hauteux ( positively). No ! — You shall not ! I will do so myself. 

I do noc wish her to stay by herself! (exit), 
True. She seems to be engrossed with me at present. I am 

glad of it : She is too sensible to be— Who is this again ? 



15 
Re -enter Nell with the child in her arm. 

Nell. Ob, Mr. True, she is gone ! — I cannot find her any where. 

True. Gone, Nell ? (reflects a moment, and tJien lauglts pleasantly) 
Oh, well, just take the little fellow into yonder room— not 
there ! — Heavens ! Adrian is there. — and Stall,., be mmeb you 
treat him like a prince, you hear ? {exit Nell), If I ean be 
married before this unexpected visitor — this uniftv&ed gtt«s$ 
— is discovered, I shall feel secure and easy. No doubt 
some eccentric woman, with a trace of madness in ker com- 
position, is laboring under the delusion that I am wealthy**-* 
And now I may as well biace up for the ceremony. I won- 
der how I look in this awkward costume t (goes before a mir- 
ror) That is all right. Now for those marriage forms. (rwM 
over them aloud) "Will you take this wedded wife to bo 
your — this husband to be your— no, this woman to be your 
wedded wife? I will.'' I have actually forgotten the mar- 
riage forms ! They are coming — Adrian and Clair. Where 
is that book of mine— that "Discipline," or "Ritual," or 
what not ? I will glance over it. (turns over tlie pages rap- 
idly). Here it is. (at this point, Adrian and Clair enter and 
remain in the background, accompanied by Nell, and Dimi- 
try, icho stand in the doorway. This done, Madame Hauteux 
enters from the room in which tlie child is supposed to be. She 
throws the door open, and by a sudden, significant action,, di- 
rects Adrian's gaze upon the child.) 

Adrian (going quickly to the door — aside), A child 1— Qh, JMtad- 
ame — bring it here! (Hauteux does so instantly). 

Eauteux. Oh, Mr. True, whose child is this? See! take him ia 
your arms! (True does so artlessly.) 

Adrian (aside). Oh, what shall I do ? (looks de§pxtiringty M 
Madame Hauteux. True stands facing the audience—with an 
expression of profound bewilderment upon his countenance, *wi« 
troubled by suspicion. He appears to be in thought; .then he 
casts his eyesdoicn, and smiles upon the child in htexirim. Me 
turns half round, and meets Adrian's gaze) 



16 
True (instantly fathoming her thoughts). Oh, Adrian, do not 

leave me! (Clair stands off a. distance, looking calmly on) 
Adrian {seizing a note in the child's bosom). Sheridan True's — 

child ! — Oh, how — have yon— betrayed — me ! Will you — not 

speak? (She appears dazed: Dimitry advances.) 
ty&frfi&ifa ty>t\ mlmly). To marry you under these circumstan- 
ces would be an injustice to one, i£ not to both. It cannot 
. bjB^ (to Adyiqny ($Q f my dear, (she hesitates) I counsel you, 

g<>.l (exit Adrian* Dimitry follows,. True gives the child to 

NeU r who retires into the next room) 
qrye. SJ#y t Adrian, stay ! 
C\q \r, (retraining him} Yov> must stay ! She is a lady, and I 

take her part Speak ! (draics : Kauteux intervenes) 
Truf. I know not what to call it but an infamous blackmail ! 
Glair. Ah, Sheridan, Sheridan, speak out ! 
True (quietly). No, not for you ! You are not my judge, but 

rather a false and treacherous friend! (goes toward him: 

Madame Rauteux intervenes.) 
Hauteux(to Clair). Go!- You must! (Clair bows to Rauteux, 

and departs). 
True (turning to Madame Sauteux and smiling pleasantly). Ah 

Madame, through all my troubles, you are still my friend ! 

| CURTAIN.] 



ACT II. 

Scene— An apartment in Madame Hauteux' house, Metz. 
Time: Four weeks later. 

Enter Maurice with a nosegay in his hand. He goes to a door 

and peeps in. 

Maurice. There she is. There's Nell. — aesthetic Nell. There they 
all are — except Adrian, who has never been heard from. Off 
• she went, like a flash ; but she loves him still, I warrant. She 
can't help it. Poor girl ! she wasn't wrong, and she wasn't 
right : she was both, perhaps. I've a notion to toss this nose- 
gay into the room. —No ! {goes to the mantle and takes up a 
small vase) It is her little vase, all empty, too. I will 
crown it with a bunch of violets and a rose. It's for Nell. 
(exit) 

Enter True, with the child in his arms. He goes to a rocking 

chair. 

True. Well, well, well — hush, sir ! — (looking up.) Here we .are, !-— 
I have him still — and he has me! He weighs just fifteen 
pounds, but he is the most animated fifteen pounds I .have 
ever carried. He's alive all over. — But he's a nice little fel- 
low for all that, just as happy as if he were at home among 
his friends, and with his mother's arms about him. I wonder 
who owns him ? No one knows, and no one claims him j but 
if he has a mother, I will keep him safely till she comes 
ngRin. (he lays his head on the child's breast and listens) There ! 
His heart is right here, and I can hear it beating ! I hope it 
will beat a long, long time. We will put on his coat for him 
— is that the name ? (in putting it on the child, he thrusts the 
right arm into the left sleeve, and pauses in perplexity.) Come, 
Nell, it is your turn now. — (despairingly) Oh, Nell! (sees 
Madame Hauteux entering) Ah, Madame, 'tis you. Will Nell 
never come? (Well enters) 



18 

Hauteux. Come ?— Ah, yes— there she is ! — {aside) He actually 

loves that child ! (walks about restlessly) 
True. Nell, you may take him away for awhile. He will be a 

great mau one of these days. 
Nell (taking him). On, I hope he will ! But what shall I call 

him, Mr. True? 
True. Call him?— (gleefully) Oh, yes, we must name him. Mad- 
ame, suggest a name. How can he get along in the world 

without one? 
Hauteux. Are you really going to do that f — Oh, well, it matters 

little after all. Call him any pretty name you wish. 
True (suddenly). Oh, by the way, Nell, is h.6 a girl or a boy ? 
Nell. Oh, Mr. True!— He's a boy, of course. (True pauses in 

thought.) 
True. Now then we have it, Madame, we have it at last. I 

shall name him Sheridan True Jr., out of compliment to 

him ! Now, Nell, go at once and buy him a new rattle ! 
Nell. Very well, sir, I will go. — Four weeks ago he came to us 

in Paris, and to-day he is with us in Metz, and no doubt he 

has come to stay, (exit) 
True. So he has j he is one of those visitors that "drop in" 

occasionally to stay. He is welcome, too, Madame, is he 

not? 
Hauteux. I am sure, Mr. True, that you are always welcome 

here, (sits down) 
True. You know, of course, what brought me here, but tell me, 

why should you leave home and friends, and come to Metz ? 
Hauteux. If — Such strange questions you ask! I have never 

been fond of Paris particularly. Metz is far better. (True 

appears surprised at this statement.) And then my friends — 

as you call them — departed, every one : why, not even you 

remained. 
True. How could I ? I should never have left your place, but 

for very urgent reasons. You know them well, (smiling) I 

intended to occupy a house of my own, not far from yours; 



19 

but some malicious woman, half demented, perhaps, over- 
turned my plans, and left me as I was — a bachelor. 

Hauteux. Demented? Mad, you mean? (she looks around un. 
easily) You only guess so ? — l am almost glad of your mis- 
hap — 

True. Glad? Why, Madame? 

Rauteux. Because it shows you what they are. Surely you 
remember the day? It was — strange ! I have forgotten it. — 
But they forsook you at once, both Lieutenant Clair and 
Adrian. The former drew his sword against your life, and 
the latter did not love you well enough to trust you. 

True. Do you really think so, Madame ? 

Hauteux. Think so ? — That is a strange question to ask ! — Well, 
if she loved you, she would return. You have waited : you 
have called her long and loud, but she does not answer. No, 
no, she remains away j she does not trust herself in the open 
streets where you can find her. Am I not right 1 

True. Do not speak so, Madame I Come, be just. She is young 
and thoughtless. Say you love her then, will you not % 
(takes her hand impassionately.) Speak, you do not dislike 
her, do you ? Do you love her then ? 

Hauteux {softly but pungently). No, I cannot ! {goes to a door ? 
then turnSy and looks back with evident displeasure.) 

True (going to her). Oh, Madame, have you forsaken me, too? 

Hauteux. No — not yet !— How can one like her now f How can 
you t She is a good girl, an excellent girl — only — I do not 
know why she stays away ! (exit) 

True. Her manner is strange, and yet she is always positive. 
Her reasons are strong, I admit, but I cannot accept them. 
Here comes some one. It is Jerrold Quiz, the one-eyed laud- 
lord. Well, my frien4, how is that left eye of yours, f 
Enter Jerrold Quiz. 

Jerrold. No better, can't see out of it. {walks off a distance) Now 
I cant even see you with it. In fact, Mr. Sheridan, my right 
eye is the only one I have left. 



20 

True. You have a confusion of sight then, or of mind ? Which 
is it ? (they sit down) 

Jerrold. Now don't make merry at an old man like me, Mr. 
Sheridan. See here : this letter was left here for you awhile 
ago. 

True. It is in answer to the one I wrote. It relates to the diffi- 
culty with Lieut. Clair, who, I see has been ill. 

Jerrold. Who is he, Mr. Sheridan ? 

True. He was formerly a friend of mine, but now an enemy. 
You will see him here to-day at twelve. 

Jerrold (aside). He can't live in Metz ; I never heard of him. — 
Well, sir, how is the little boy? 

True. So far, Jerrold, he has escaped the croup remarkably 
well, but he isn't in good trim this morniug. He is very 
fretful. Do you like him ? 

Jerrold. I like little children — been with them all my life. 
How old is your boy, Mr. Sheridan? — Now don't think hard 
of me, I'm only getting acquainted with you. 

True. Sheridan True Jr. is — really, Jerrold, your question is 
simple enough, but I can't answer it. I have no family 
Bible. 

Jerrold. No record of his age then ? Well, well, well — 

True. None at all. Singular, isn't it ? 

Jerrold. So it is. It's a pity. 

True. And no one knows anything about him, either. He was 
given to me, Jerrold. 

Jerrold. Given to you ? (Jerrold fa Us to thinking) He wasn't 
born in Metz, that's certain. I would have heard of it. (aside) 

True. And judging by his countenance, you would think him 
a very innocent little fellow, wouldn't you ? 

Jerrold. In all conscience, he's innocent enough, Mr. Sheridan. 

True. But he isn't, he isn't at all. He broke up a nice little fam- 
ily gathering sometime ago. (Jerrold again falls to medita- 
ting) Now wasn't he an appropriate preseut for a bachelor ? 

Jerrold {drawing up close). Mr. Sheridan, where did you come 



21 

from? ^STow don't think hard of me -I'm just getting ac- 
quainted with you. 

True. Jerrold, don't let me lead you into a discussion of this 
kind, unless you feel so disposed ; still you appear to have 
an appetite for news this morning. 

Jerrold. So I have. But I'm a deep man, Mr. Sheridan. I know 
all the news in Metz, and half the people, too. 

True (suddenly), Ah, you do ? — Well, then, years ago I came to 
Paris with my sister, Lillian True, as the correspondent of a 2 
American journal. I was often in the company of actors 
and actresses, and when the journal for which I wrote 
changed hands, I turned my attention to the drama. Jour- 
nalists often do that. It is very natural, too ; they have 
more ups and downs, and more temptations to do wrong 
than anybody else. To-day four weeks ago, I had the cour- 
age to present my piece before the assembled critics of Paris, 
but the evening passed off pleasantly, and it was a success. 
This quite took my breath away, because, being an Ameri- 
can, I had no idea that the play would succeed. Success in 
one thing, however, does not portend success in another ; 
and so a few evenings later, when there was to be a wedding 
at my house, I met with trouble and misfortune. On the 
very night of the ceremony, some one made me a present of 
young Sheridan True; my friends turned against me, and 
even my bride forgot her promise, and returned to Metz. 
There's the story in a nut-shell. 

Jerrold. Mr. Sheridan, it isn't in my line to ask questions every 
minute, so don't think hard of me if I do. What is the 
lady's name, say you, sir i 

True. Adrian Marcelle, Jerrold. 

Jerrold. And your sister's name, say you ? 

True. Her name is Lillian. 

Jerrold. Very well, Mr. Sheridan, if they are in Mecz — as you 
think they are — I will find them both. I know all the 
news around, and half the people, too. So cheer up. 



True (who icas not expecting this, looks at the old man thoughtfully, 
and smiles). Now, Jerrold, I did not expect this of you. I 
have left nothing- undone to find them both, and jou must 
not suffer jour good nature to get the better of your strength 
or judgment. 

Jerrold. Ah, never mind, Mr. Sheridan, I thought you were in 
trouble, and I am happier when I can help somebody. So 
come with me. Ah ! 

Enter Nell quickly. 

Nell. Oh, Mr. True, you must come and see him. I believe he 

is ill. 
True. Ill ! — Is he ill ? — I knew there was something wrong. Now 

what shall I do ? 
Jerrold. Just leave it all to me, Mr. Sheridan ; leave it all to 

me. (exit True) 
Nell. Isn't it dreadful ? I know nothing about sickness. What 

shall I do I 
Jerrold. Keep quiet. I will see the child myself, (the door 

opens and Maurice appears. A sudden thought strikes Jerrold) 

Ah, come here, will you ? (they go aside to talk). 
Nell. It is Maurice, lovely Maurice ! I wonder if he knows I 

am standing here? — A nosegay ! he brought it, I know. I 

will wear it for him. There ! he is gone ! I don't care. 

(to Jerrold) Now what did you do that for! (suddenly) 

Oh, nothing! (exit). 
Jerrold (puzzled). Nothing ?— I've thought of a plan— (smiles 

complacently) a deep plan. Only yesterday — who is there 1 

(some one knocks at the door, Jerrold opens it). Well, who 

is this young lady ? (aside) . 

Enter Adrian Marcelle in black. 

Adrian. Good evening, sir. Does Mr. Jerrold Quiz live here ? 

Jerrold. Mr. Quiz lives here, ma'am. 

Adrian. Who are you, pray ? Pardon my curiosity. 



23 

Jerrold. I am bo, ma'am, Jerrold Quiz. (Jerrold grows inter- 
ested and regards her with evident curiosity.) 

Adria.i. Ah, yes. You answer the description I have of you. 
I am :om the hospital just now, Mr. Quiz, where there are 
so many sick soldiers. I have been there sometime. A 
friend of yours, employed there, a Mrs. Constance, (Jerrold 
v ^>ds ass it) sent me hither to make arrangements with you 
for a room. 

Jerrold. A room ? 

Adrian. Yes ; I like this one : is it occupied? 

Jerrold. All this upper part, ma'am, belongs to Madame 1 lau- 
teux, and this room is occupied by a gentleman, Mr. Sheri- 
dan True — 

Adrian. Oh, how you frightened me ! (she remains nervous.) 

Jerrold. Frightened you ? — No, no, there is nothing in Jerrold 
Quiz to scare anybody. Come now, no more noise. There's 
a child siclt in the next room . 

Adrian. A child ?— Ah, me ! — (suddenly.) Tell me, who nurses 
it! 

Jerrold (aside). That's queer — very queer — Well, ma'am, I have 
just sent to the Convent for a nurse, in case of need. They 
are good and trusty, those people. 

Adrian. You have ? To the Convent f That's strange : why 
didn't you send for a physician? However, I'll not ask. 
(rising) I am sorry I cannot remaiu here longer. I must 
go. Good evening, sir. (exit) 

Jerrold (puzzled and mystified). As sure as I live, that woman 
is out of her mind. She shows it: clear symptoms, too. 
She said "good evening'' twice, in ten minutes. Now every- 
body knows it isn't evening at all, it is morning. She never 
took her eyes off me once. Poor girl ! she was quick to ad- 
vise physic for us, but not for herself. It isn't physic we 
want; it is nursing. Nature and the nurses work more 
cures than the doctors, I know it. I've lived in a hospital 
long enough— 



24 

True (thrusting his head in at the door). Oh, Jerrold, Jerrold ! 

Jerrold. Mr. True is all in a flutter. It's natural: he's never 
had experience. Let ine see what I can do to quiet him. (exit) 
Enter Madame Hauteux. She looks bach into the room. 

Hauteux. He is shunning me! He speaks not a word of hope. 
There ! I saw him press a kiss upon its cheek ! I know he 
loves it now : he bends over it so tenderly. It must be sent 
from here, and quickly, too. (jealously J Loves it ! (advances 
uneasily) What is this he is doing ? Turning away ? Ee- 
pelliug me? Yes! It makes me shudder. — Oh, I wish he 
were dead, or gone from here! — Gone? (reflects) — Ah, yes! 
if we part, this suffering will cease, these hours of melan- 
choly go — and I'll not sink beneath the reach of sympathy. 
Go T — He must ! I cannot long live here: it grows intolera- 
ble! I'll drive him hence, and then the doors of my heart 
will open, and Love and Hate will take their flight together. 
(suddenly) And yet he is my guest — my welcome, hated 
guest, who fills my heart with care. — Then let him go — let 
the child go with him, and let all he loves go follow him 
down the stairway into the streets of Metz ! (Nell enters) 
.Nell, tell your master I would see him here. Go quickly ! 
(exit Nell) And who are you ? (sees Adrian entering, in black. 
She has a heavy convent veil over her face,) Ah ! do not recoil, 
Madame. 'Tis but a woman speaking to you. Come, you are 
silent. Tell me who you are. You have no name ? — Whis- 
per then ; I will let nobody hear it. — You provoke me, Mad- 
ame ! Then say what brought you here. Speak ! 

Adrian. Sickness ! — 

Hauteux. Ah, yes, I see it now : you are one of the nurses from 
the hospital. 'Tis well you came : Sheridan True's child is 
very ill. Ah ! take care, (catches her) You would have 
tripped yourself and fallen. Let me take you in my arms 
(does so) How tremulous you are! So slight! You are 
young — too youug to pass your life in a convent. Perhaps 
you have a brother sick in the hospital, or dying of a wound 



received in battle. — Or perhaps you nurse tlie dying soldiers 
of the French army ? That is kind of yon, and gentle. — 
Flow I long to see your eyes, Madame ! Are they blue or 
hazel?— Let me see ! quick! Jift your veil ! I will kiss you ! 
(Adrian hides her face in her hands). 

Enter True unobserved. 

True. Come, Madame, let me show her in. (does so, and returns, 
after a pause at the door.) 

Hauteux (half aside). There! see how he treats me! He does 
not even ask me to go with him. lie is always slighting 
me ! 

True Is she not rather delicate for a nurse, Madame ? 

Rauteux. Delicate? Yes, and too young! You had better send 
her away. Come, I will do so for you — 

True. No, not yet, Madame. k Tis the best I can do. The ex- 
perienced nurses are all in the hospitals, and the doctors — 
(suddenly) had'nt I better— 

Hauteux (quickly). I will help'ker. Siie may make some error. 
I will watch her closely. Let me go ! 

True. Stay, you wished to see me. 

Rauteux. It — No! no!— I do not want you. Release me. 
Let me go. 

True. Nbt now : I will, when you are more composed. Speak 
to me ,Madame : what is it agitates you so ? Are you trou- 
bled? You must not repel me. No, no; come, tell me all about 
yourself, while there's no one here. I will listen to you r 
story, I will help you ; I am not far off, Madame, but close 
to you. Come, you must! You know I have ever — loved you. 
(her face lights up suddenly) - "* 

Rauteux. No, I have nothing to tell you. Do you not see 
I am quite composed and prudent? You are detaining me. 
Let me go. (exit) •'■ '- 

True. It is useless; I can do-nothing with her. She is like a 
leaf caught up by the wind and driven hither and thither 
by its violence. She loves? me, I am sure, and would die for 



26 
me. There's the pain of it. Was ever a bachelor in such a 
state of trouble ? I wonder what I can do for her ? — I will 
leave this place : that's best, perhaps. She will then for- 
get me — but — suppose she isn't in love with me? I won- 
der if she is ? What should have cast a gloom over her so 
suddenly?— I have known her a long time, I will be 
frank and ask her. (goes toward a door) It is impossible ! 
She knows I am to be married. There is something else the 
matter. And yet, what do all these kindnesses mean?— 
Oh, it is mysterious ! I must know; I would not hurt her 
for all the world (Jerrold enters). Well, Jerrold, what is 
the matter ? The nurse incompetent ? 

Jerrold. I think the girl's too nervous; I'll put on my hat— 

T. we. Wait ! I will go for the doctor myself. Why didn't you 
tell me of this before ? Tou are old enough to know better. 
(Jerrold. iclnces.J 

Jerrold. Don't scold, Mr. Sheridan, don't scold. There's noth- 
ing the matter. 

True. Nothing? What do you mean, then, by hurrying off in 
that manner? 

Jerrold. I tell you, Mr. Sheridan, there's nothing wrong, nothing 
at all. I was at his bedside just now, n ml the moment he 
saw me, sir, he winked this eye first, and then he winked 
tins one. That's a good sign, Mr. Sheridan ! 

True. Tou mean, Jerrold, it is a sign of life ? 

Jerrold. Oh, he's alive, sir. Wait till night comes! 

True. The tones of your voice are fall ot foreboding. 
I shall trouble myself no more about it, then. He was 
alive last night; he was distressingly alive. If my friends 
could have seen me pacing the floor at 1 A. m., trying to 
sing the melodies of "Mother Goose," they would not have 
been moved to laughter: they would have ma.veleii at my 
heroism And, Jerrold, I want you to do a favor for me— if 
you can. 

Jerrold. What is it, Mr. Sheridan ? 



28 

True. Come and sit up with me to-night. I like to hear you 
talk. 

Jerrold. "Which I will do, sir, if I can. — I will go now, and make 
those inquiries for you, and if the women are here in Metz, 
you'll hear of it by to-morrow, (exit) 

Trite. I shall make friends at every tick of the clock. [Maurice 
enters with a letter) What is it, Maurice % A letter ? 

Maurice. There's not a nurse to be found in Metz, Mr. True j 
but I have brought a letter for you. (delivers it.) 

True (after a2>ause). Oh, never mind about that. I am satisfied 
with Jerrold's management, (looks at the address on the letter) 
There is something the mater in Paris, I know it. There is 
a storm gathering overhead, I know it. There is something 
harrowing in this letter, too, I know it. Let me see— from 
Manager Miles of the "Comique : (reads) 
"My Bear Sir: 

"Why is it you do not return to Paris and attend to the 
pressing demands of business ? There, is imperative neces- 
sity of your doing so at once. The people whom you engaged 
to present your drama at the 'Comique,' are greatly aston- 
ished that you should be absent from the theatre at this time,, 
and your friends here are at a loss to account for your pecu- 
liar eccentricities. There are strange rumors afloat'' — ru- 
mors about me? What can they be ? — "and I regret to say 
that your name is already connected with a malicious scan- 
dal, which the newspapers will get hold of in a few days" — 
Scandal ! Avhat does that mean ? — "I am doing my utmost to 
suppress it, but it is nearly impossible to baffle the curiosity 
of the reporters, who are coming to me every day for a 
sketch of your life." -Reporters! may justice seize them ! — 
'•Now do not let this letter alarm you, or make you feel un- 
easy, as it is not intended to cause you any anxiety. 5 ' — On 
the contrary, he could not have written me a more comfort- 
ing epistle.— "Let me beg of you, therefore, to return atonce, 
and explain these matters to the satisfaction of your friends. 



29 

If you are not here pretty soon, I shall send a mutual 
friend, Fentou Freie, to see you in Metz, in behalf of my in- 
terests. 

''Yours sincerely, 

"Roderick Miles, 

"Man.Thea. Com., Paris.*' 
"P. S. — After writing the above letter, I hare been informed 
that you were married sometime ago. Manj r congratulations. 

"MrLKS." 
This is horrible ! Scandal ! Married ! How did this rumor 
— it is horrible to think of! — At night I have no rest, and in 
the daytime — in the few lucid moments I have — I am puz- 
zled, perplexed, and vexed by letters like this ! Who could 
have originated such a rumor ? {Maurice winces) Go, Mau- 
rice, there is some one at the bell down stairs. I suspect it 
is Mr. Frere : keep him down there for a few minutes {exit 
Maurice) till I can collect in}' thoughts. — I must return to 
Paris immediately : I have been off for days and days with- 
out giving a solitary word of explanation. I'll go- but 
Adrian ! — What shall become of her? If she only knew how 
much misery I have endured for her sake— if she only knew 
how ridiculous I have been, and am likely to be for a decade 
to come — {Adrian enters) Ah, Madame, pardon me, I did not 
know you were so near. Be seated, please, just for a mo- 
ment. I am resolved to return to Paris, and you must ac- 
company me. I am positive: you must. I shall go now and 
see that everything is put in readiness for the journey, {exit) 

Adrian {crying). Oh — oh- he— he — is going — away ! — I — I — will 
— go with— him! Yes — I — I— will go — and speak to him. 
like a noble woman. There! (lifts her veil) Ah! Madame 
Hauteux ! do not be harsh to me. 

Sauteux {entering). Adrian Marcelle ! ( half-aside) She came to 
watch us!— Come, you must go. {takes her by the hand) You 
are not welcome here. 

Adrian. Please, Madame, do not drive me hence. I have no 



Lome, :o friends. Oh, let me go ! I must see him I 
Hauteux. Nay, you cannot enter there! I will not have it. 

'T would be sad for both of us. 
Adrian. I cannot believe it. I have seen him with my own 

eyes : he is noble and I must see Irui : 
Hauteux. Will you rush into his arms? Kay, you shall not! 

You must leave at once. Come — 
Adrian. Why, why are you so interested in me ? 
Hauteux. Interested? Ah, yes! I will tell you. Whose 

place is this ! and who am I ? Do you know ? 
Adrian. I do not understand you. 
Hauteux. Strange ! Whose child is this ? And why docs he 

name it for himself? 
Adrian. Ah, me! My heart is broken.— Oh, speak, Madame, 

who is its mother ! 
Hauteux (after a pause). Do you not know ? 
Adrian. You!— {she turns away). Oh, let me go! Open the 

door— anil let me go 2 I am satisfied. 

Hauteux (talces her by the hand). Come, let us hurry. I fear 
something dreadful, (suddenly with fear) Did you not hear 
that noise? (a coin falls upon the floor). 

Adrian —There, Madame! I have dropped all my money, (she 
hesitates) 

Hauteux. Nay! You cannot stop to find it! Cornel (draws a 
purse from her pochet). There! take it. It is a purse 
full of money. Go now, and never return! (exit 
Adrian. Hauteux looks around irresolutely for a mo- 
ment; then suddenly icith fear). Oh, the child! the child! 
It is still here! What peril under my roof! — Send it away 

then ! Yes, this very moment! It stands like ice between 

us now— it alone! (goes quickly to a door and opens it. She 
recoils). Ah ! they are there ! How can I ? They will sus- 
pect me. They are watching me closely; they are all 
watching me! Have I no disguise? I cannot have it here 



31 

another hour. It must be sent away somewhere, anywhere 
— {True enters : shegroics calm at once.) 

True. Ah, she is gone. 

Hauteux (reflects). Gone ?— Who ? 

True. The lady. 

Hauteux. Ah, yes, I understand. You want her? — Why, then, 
I will go at once and eall her! {he restrains her ) Oh, no, it is 
no trouble ! {aside from True) I will follow her to see whith- 
er she is goiup. I know she isn't going away ! {exit). 

True. Off she goes agaiu, without a reason, or a word of explan- 
ation. I cannot understand her : she has been wholly differ- 
ent heretofore. — Well, Maurice — 

Enter Maurice. 

Maurice. Here is that gentleman's card, sir. He is very impa- 
tient: he is stamping the floor down stairs. 

True. Send him up. {exit Maurice) Fenton Frere, I knew 
it. He is a reporter on a dramatic paper. I shall 
now be served up in the newspapers. What a prospect 
ahead of me! It is exhilarating. He is coming, and I 
must act like a married man — if my tongue does not betray 
me. — Come in, Fenton, come in, and be seated {goes to him 
and grasps his hand.) 
Fenton {in the door). Thank you, Sheridan, you are quite cor- 
dial, indeed. I hope this is no intrusion ? 
True. Not at all, not at all. You kaow very well, Fenton — 
Fenton. Oh, yes, I know it all. Ha ! ha ! ha ! who would have 
suspected it !— But, Sheridan, among all your friends, there 
is no one who will congratulate you more heartily than I ! 
(grasps his hand) 

True {merrily). Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! — Sit down, sit 

down. How do I look? 
Fenton. You look sleepy, old fellow: so you do. — But what a 
strange idea it was for you to come to Metz to spend your 
honeymoon, without saying a word about it. Where is your 
wife ? I don't see her here. 



32 

True. Well it was a strange notion, I must confess, {parrying 
the question) Have a cigar, Fenton ? 

Fenton. Thanks — Now tell me, Sheridan, how do you like mar- 
ried life? -Disappointed? 

True. Ye; — no! What am I thinking about? Beally, Fenton, 
you must let me prevail upon you to try a glass of this 
sherry wine. Will you ? 

Fenton. Certainly, (they go to a side-table and fill two glasses) 
Have you another glass here, Sheridan ? 

True. Yes, here's one. What do you want with it? 

Fenton (fills it). Now invite Mrs. True to join us, and introduce 
me at once. 

True. Really, Fen — 

Fenton. No refusal, Sheridan : I shall think hard of it. 

True. Honestly, Fenton, she is not in. 

Fenton. Ah ! out visiting, perhaps ? Sorry for that, sir. But 
here's to her health. I drink the odd glass to you. (they drink) 
Now, sir, if you have received Miles's letter, you know, of 
course, what brought me here. I come to bring you back 
per force. £o tell me, first of all, when shall you return to 
Paris ? 

True. At once : that is, to-day. 

Fenton. Very well, then, I sball send a telegram to Miles im- 
mediately, and let him know just when you expect to 
arrive in Paris. 

True. Indeed ! — Is it so important as that ? 

Fenton. Well, everybody is anxious about you. I am informed, 
too, that you will meet with a very cordial reception on 
your arrival — 

True. A reception? 

Fenton. Yes. Your friends have just heard of your marriage, 
and are going to meet you at tne train in Paris. 

True. They are ? This is terrifying ! 

Fenton. How sol 

True. Oh, no 1 what am I thinking about ? Go on, Fen. 



33 

Fenton. And besides, Sheridan, there is something else on the 
programme —a sort of surprise, I believe, which they have in 
store for you to-morrow eveii'ng. But I am not at liberty 
to disclose it. 

True. A surprise in store for me f That is singular.— Well, 
Nellie, wnat is it? 

Nell (looking in). Mr. True, you must come at once. He is 
worse ! 

True. Worse '. Now what shall I do ? 

Benton. Who is worse ? 

True. Why the — er- pardon me, Fenton — (beseechingly) 

Fenton. Certainly I will, Sheridan. I have but one word to 
say, in conclusion : Mr. Miles is the most anxious man in 
the world to see you back again: so don't forget your prom- 
ise to return at once, aud make the necessary changes in 
your drama. Good-bye, old fellow. I expect to call at 
your house to-morrow on a matter of great interest to you 
and your friends, (exit) 

True. Gone ! My head is in a whirl. Worse ! Is it possible ? — 
I must have a physician (goes to a door, as Lieut. Clair en- 
ters). Ah! — 

Clair. 'Tis twelve o'clock, sir, the appointed hour. 

True. I cannot meet you now. 

Clair. But I insist. It must be now or never. 

True. It shall be never then.— That you are here to meet me, is 
but a stroke of mine, Lieutenant. You stand within my 
doors 

Clair. Yours !— (makes totvard a door : True intervenes) 

True. No— you cannot ! — You owe a duty to yourself, aud to me. 
You should recognize it. You have brought misfortune on 
a woman who is near to me— my sister. You have injured 
aud neglected her. You left her here in Metz without a 
friend: you forsook and forgot her 

Clair. No, Sheridan — 

True. Do her justice then. Her safety was your first and 



34 
greatest duty. You loved her little when you wronged her 
so. Go then, and if she lives— 

Clair. Lives ! Lives ! — Oh, Sheridan, speak no more ! I ain 

sorry now. It was impulse, nothing else, that turned me 
thus against you, and made me such an enemy. But my 
heart is not estranged from you — and though I s tided all 
its generous promptings, and hushed the voice of duty for a, 
time, I will strive against myself no longer. 

True. Then, Lieutenant, we are friends once more. I knew you 
had a better face than the one you wore just now j and 
though you turned against yourself and drove out high 
impulses, that same perversity comes over all of us some- 
times, and man is the enemy of his best thoughts. 

| CURTAIN.] 



ACT III. 

Scene— An apartment In True 'a House, Paris. 

Entee Nell. 

Nell. Again in Paris! Well, I am glad of it : there is no pleas- 
ure for me in a wild goose chase, such as we have had in 
Metz. What could have become of her? It is strange she 
should have disappeared so completely, Not a glimpse — 
who is that? (sees Maurice entering) Now, Maurice, what is 
it brings you back to Paris ? It seems I can never get rid 
of you. 

Maurice. Nor I of you, Nell. 'Tis hard, indeed, that we cannot 
get rid of each other. I left you here and went to Metz, but 
you followed me there. 

Nell. I?— Indeed! — So you returned the compliment by follow- 
ing me to Paris — 

Maurice. On important business. 

Nell. Ah ! 

Maurice. Yes, Nell, I am to be married at last. 

Nell. Oh, Maurice, is it that rich heiress ? 

Maurice. Yes, she is very rich — in good graces. { puts an arm 
about her) 

Nell Stop, do not do that 1 I am not an — heiress. 

Maurice. I am sorry, Nell j but that counts little with me. I 
am plain, and will marry you as you are. Eh, Nell ? 

Nell. No, Maurice, I prefer to wait— - 

Maurice. But if I told you Jerrold Quiz, the landlord, sent me 
hither with a letter of great importance to Mr. Sheridan 
True and the baby— (gi res the letter) 

Nell. Perhaps. — Tell me, what does it contain ? 

Maurice. Glad tidings. Jerrold has found a clue at last— he 
thinks. 

Nell. Oh, has he ? — Tell me, Mauf ice —I love you so — where did 
the child come from 1 



36 

Maurice (puts an arm around her). It came from— oh, Nell, if I 
could only have your promise — 

Nell. You have it, Maurice — 

Maurice. To marry me — 

Nell. Oh!— Well— goon — 

Maurice. I say, Nell, it came from — 

Enter Sheridan Trite. 

True. That will do for this evening, Nell. Now, Maurice, there 
is something at the train for you— (Maurice brightens up) 
some luggage of mine. Bring it here, and to-night you may 
take Nell back to Metz with you— 

Nell. I won't! He will have to stay in Paris, (exit Maurice glee- 
fully) Mr. True, I won't go back ! (wipes away a tear.) Here 
are two letters, sir. (delivers them) 

True. Two "? — One of them bears the stamp of Paris, the other 
seems to be a note, (puts the former into his pocket, and opens 
the latter leisurely) Oh, Nell, how is my little cherub I 

Nell. I think the trip has improved him very much, Mr, True. 
The doctor says so. 

True. He does? Tell him to come here presently. 

Nell. Yes, sir. (goes to a door: then suddenly) Oh, Mr. True, I 
had nearly forgotten to tell you : a little while ago a man 
brought a carriage here and a beautiful span of horses, and 
insisted on leaving tbem in the yard. 

True. He did ? Did he bring no message, or word of explana. 
tiou 1 

Nell. .No, sir. Perhaps one of those letters may clear up the 
matter, {exit) 

True. I will see at once, (reads the letter Maurice brought). Why, 
this letter is signed by a Mrs. Positive, Matron of St. The- 
rese Hospital, Metz ! That is singular. Let us see: 
"Dear Sir : 
"This is the eighth letter that I have been under the neces- 
sity of writing to yon in the past four weeks.'' Eighth ! She 
must have a strong admiration for me ! — "It is unnecessary, 



therefore, for me to repeat in this one the rules and advice 
which I gave you in the others, for your direction and gui- 
dance in ease of sickness and fretfulness." — What does she 
mean? Sickness and. fretfulness ! — "It is very strange, in- 
deed, that yon have kept silent so long, and ha ve not taken 
the slightest trouble to answer any of them. T suppose you 
have cast them into the waste basket as trash, and thought 
no more about them. But you need not flatter yourself that 
I will let the matter drop without another word: you may 
rest assured that I will have an explanation of it costs 
me a trip to Paris.''— Tli is mysterious lady is very angry 
with me about something. Ah ! here it is. — "For weeks and 
weeks you have not put pen on paper to this unfortunate 
woman, nor have you sent her a single franc to defray her 
expenses."— What unfortunate woman does she mean ? "In- 
stead, you have been perfectly silent, and nothing that I 
can do will draw the least response. Ilopiug that this letter 
will set you to thinking, etc., etc., etc. 

"Mes. Positive, 
'•Matron St. Therese Hospital, Mete.* 
This is the most mysterious missive I have ever received. 
If it were to fall into the hands of one of my friends, he 
would accuse me of carrying on a clandestine correspond- 
ence with the Matron of a hospital. (Doctor Quiet enters) 
Here is this other letter— ah, Doctor, come in. I have been 
wanting to see you. Tell me, what is the matter with this 
little child ? Anything serious ? 

Quiet. Well— er— Mr. True -it doesn't amount to much. He 
has some fever, 'tis true, but— er— I'm inclined to think it 
will pass off after awhile. Iu fact, sir, I think you will dis- 
cover the matter yourself bye-and bye. 

True You do?— Oh, no doubt of it. But— how long do you 

think it will take me to find it out? 

Quiet, Well— er-a day or two will probably suffice, sir. Tell 
me, what portions of the couutry have you been sojourning 



in lately '? No marshy district, I hope ? 

True. No, no, Doctor, I have a great antipathy to swampy lo- 
calities. Does that help you any ? 

Quiet. Oh, I need no help, Mr. True, none at all. To be candid 
with you, I take it to be merely a complication of malaria 
with dentitis. 

True. Ah, dentitis?— (aside) What is that?— Well, it seems to 
mo that these complications of malaria are becoming rather 
frequent, not to say convenient, now-a days, 

Quiet. I may possibly agree with you, Mr. True. The advance 
of medicine has been very rapid in the past decade : the 
allopaths have given up the use of calomel almost entirely, 
and the homeopaths really give nothing to speak of. I 
should advise you, however, to procure a nurse at once. 
Where is the child's mother ? 

True. A nurse ? Certainly, I shall attend to that to day. Write 
me a presciip {Quiet goes off aside) 

Enter Fenton Frere. 

Fenton. Ah, Sheridan, here you are. Your friends are delighted 
to hear of your arrival, though I must confess they were 
somewhat surprised at not meeting you at the train. 

True. They were? I shall certainly do myself the justice to 
make them a full explanation after awhile. 

Fenton. You must. They were coming here to see you this 
evening — 

True. What ! 

Fenton. Yes. But, on reflection, I asked them not to do so, be- 
cause I thought that you and Mrs. True would be too much 
fatigued after the journey to eutertain them. But tell me, 
Sheridan, how did you like the present the "Bachelors' 
Club' 7 made you 1 

True. Present ! I don't understand you — 

Fenton. Yes. Didn't you get my letter? 

True [searches Ms .pockets). Oh, yes, I have i: here in my pocket. 



39 

Fenton. Let me read a fragment of it for you. I am now the 
secretary of the "Club.'' (reads ) 
'•Sheridan True, Esq., 
"Paris. 
"Dear Sir : 

"The members of the 'Bachelors' Club,' of 
which you have been the President for a number of years, 
having been apprised of your marriage, have, made it my 
pleasurable duty to address you this letter of congratula- 
tion and good wishes. At our organization several 
years ago, you will remember that you incorporated into 
the constitution a law, that if a member dared to marry se- 
cretly, without the knowledge of his friends, he should, by 
way of retaliation, be at once expelled, and so, as this is the 
first opportunity that has presented itself to us, you will see 
at a glance how neatly your suggestion fits in — 

True. They have expelled me from the "Club !'' 

Fenton. "But though we deeply regret that so excellent a fox has 
lost his tail,'' you may rest assured that we shall not part 
from you without giving you some substantial token of the 
high esteem in which you are held by your comrades — 

True (suddenly). There ! you have come to it ! It is that car- 
riage and span of horses. Whee ugh ! —See here, Fenton, I 
shall have to acknowledge all this, and tell them how much 
Mrs. True will enjoy the riding. 

Fenton. Certainly you will. You are not overwhelmed at the 
thought, I hope ? 

True. Oh, no, it was rather unexpected. 

Fenton. I am sorry, Sheridan, you do not appreciate our wed- 
ding present. I thought it was very appropriate : you have 
everything else in the world except that. 

True. Fenton, I do not want to hear you talk that way ! I do 
appreciate it — very much. 

Fenton (aside). He doesn't look like it. 

True (aside). __ How meanly I feel ! Place a saint out of his sphere, 



40 

and lie will develop into a demon — Is that all, Fen .' 
Fenton. !No. Here is that surprise I spoke of in Metz. Look 

at this invitation. How do you like ray design ot the owl 

■ here as typical of the bachelor ? Eh ? 
True {opens it). An invitation ? — to a supper at the "Club" 

rooms this evening?— in my honor ? 
Fenton. Yes, a farewell supper to Sheridan True. 
True. Oh, no, Fenton, oh, no ! — It is out of the question. Why 

all this expense ? 
Fenton. Expeuse? You shock me. Do you suppose your 

friends intend to permit a matter of expense to debar them 

from giving the President the- parting compliments of a 

supper ? 
True. But really, Fenton, I don't deserve all this: my friends 

have been too kind to me already. Look at the magnificent 

present they have made me. 
Fenton. That is nothing: they like you, and thought you would 

appreciate it. You must come by all means. There will be 

nobody there to-night except the members themselves, and 

two or three reporters besides myself. 
True. Eeporters! - And do you suppose I am going to make a 

confession before them 1 
Fenton. Confession? How? 

True. Yes — no ! I am thinking about something else. 
Fenton. See here, Sheridan, what do you mean by these myste- 
rious answers ! I caught you doing the same thing in 

Metz. 
True. I am growing absent-minded, I think, In fact, I have 

lost a great deal of sleep lately ; you must excuse me. 
Fenton. I will overlook it then : but promise me that you will 

not disappoint your friends to night. 
True. I will. I promise you to be there. 
Fenton. Bravo, old fellow, bravo ! That is right. 
True (aside). It is getting to close quarters, but I refuse to sur- 
render. — Is that all, Fen ? 



41 

Fenton. No I wish to ask you a question : what time shall I 
call by here for Mrs. True and yourself? 

True. Mrs. True ! Now, see here, Fenton, I prefer {Doctor 

Quiet comes near icith the prescription : True sees an opportu- 
nity of parrying the question). Ah, Doctor ! pardon- me for 
this oversight. Doctor Quiet, allow me to introduce my 
friend, Mr. Fenton Frere (they bow). 

Fenton. Really, Doctor, I hope there is nothing very serious the 
matter with Mrs. True ? 

Quiet. Pardon me, Mr. Frere, it is not Mrs. True, as you sup- 
pose. It is a little child, sir. 

Fenton. Alt, indeed ! (regards Quiet critically for a moment, then 
turns and fixes his gaze upon True.) 

True (aside). It had to come! I knew it. — Doctor, will you 
be kind enough to — step into the next room, and — er — see — 
what is going on in there ? 

Quiet, Certainly I will, sir. Certainly (exit) 

True. Fenton, have a chair. — (aside). I am going to unbosom 
myself. 

Fenton. Anything wrong? 

Tru*. Yes, something. In the past four weeks I have become 
an object of suspicion — you'll not abuse my confidence, old 
fellow ? 

Fenton. Never, Sheridan. 

True. An object of suspicion. Everything has gone wrong 
with me. I came to Paris to attend to matters of business, 
but at this very moment I feel as if I did not care particu- 
larly whether I became bankrupt or not. 

Fenton. Is it possible you are regretting your marriage already ? 

True. I have but one regret, Fenton, only one : and that is? 
that I am not married at all ! No, I'm not. 

Fenton. Zounds ! — Tour friends have been positive of it. 

True. Yes — distressingly positive. But to explain: On the 
night of— the — er— wedding, I was the recipient of a present 
from— a — female admirer. I have him in the next room. 



This little fellow — several months old, perhaps— has been in 
the same boat with me for four weeks, and we have had a 
stormy voyage together. 

Fenton. Ah ! — It is blaekmail then. — Why, Sheridan, I appre- 
ciate your position sincerely, and I am sure that there is not 
a triend of yours in Pans who would not defend the integ- 
rity of your chara3ter. But tell me, was this done for the 
purpose of extorting money from you ? 

True. No. — I have not paid a franc to any one. 

Fenton. And a woman left it, you say?— Why, then, it is 
very simple: her intention was simply to bieak up your 
marriage. Don't you think so now ? 

True. You astonish me ! As I have no enemy, that idea never 
occurred to me. 

Fenton {after due reflection). A woman T — (suddenly) I think I 
know who she is. 

True. Who? Speak, Fenton. 

Fenton. No — you must excuse me. 

True. But you must! 

jfenton. I cannot ! It is a mere suspicion, and you would never 
forgive me. 

True. I would ! . Here is my hand. 

Fenton. Well, Sheridan, I think the woman must have been de- 
mented. It is— eh ?— no ! I will not tell you. I may wrong 
Madame — 

True (suddenly). Hush! You shall not breathe a syllable 
against her here ! Retract those words, (quietly) 

Fenton. Stop ! Your promise stands between us. 

True. Oh, Fen ton —you are not the man I thought you were I 
You must go T You must leave me I I cannot bear to hear 
you talk that way. (Fenton retires) Oh, no, he is all wroug. 
He is simply suspicious. These reporters — t cannot re- 
proach them for it — see so much of crime and criminals, that 
they lose faith in human nature. No ! no ! uo- 1 



43 
Enter Lteut. Clair. 

Clair. What is tbe matter, Sheridan ? 

True. Well, Lieutenant, I am glad to see you. Cnly a trifle : a 
friend of mine, Teuton Frere, intimaied that Madame Hau- 
teux was the cause of all my troubles. 

Clair. That is preposterous ; our friend Frere is apt to be sus- 
picious, and that accounts, perhaps — but here he comes 
again 

Re-enter Frere. 

Fenton. I am sorry, I made you feel badly. I have been 
thinking about the matter: I would not iujure anyone 
iu the world, and last of all, a woman. I will retract it all, 
and say I'm wrong. 

True. Oh, never miud, Fenton, I shall forget it at once. Lis- 
ten ! I hear some one's voice outside, {they listen) 

Miles (outside). W T hy, Doctor, I am extremely sorry to be ap- 
prised of Mrs. True's illness Is she better to-day ! 

Quiet (outside). Pardon me, Mr. Mdes, it is not Mrs. True as you 
suppose : just walk in, sir. 

Fenton, It is Miles. 

True (aside). I shall dismiss this doctor presently. 

Enter Miles. 

Miles. Good evening, gentlemen. My hand, Sheridau. Many 
congratulations, and many returns of the same day — I mean 
anniversaries. Pardon my intrusion just now, but may I 
inquire why it is you persist iu remaiuiug away from the 
theatre at this time ? 

True. Really, Mr Miles, it is a necessity. 

Miles. Necessity ? I am under the impression that your con- 
tract requires your presence there, and besides, sir, some 
important changes must be made in the play and the com- 
pany at once. There is decided room for improvement in 
both.. 

True. I know it. Do anything, Mr. Miles, do anything. Ton 
have my full permission to add to, or take from, as you like 



n 

Misfortunes never come singly : I am arriving at the point 
where, like the misanthrope, I am not happy or contented, 
unless I am miserable, and everybody about me is equally to. 

Miles. Gentlemen, Mr. True, misunderstands me. The play 
has met with success as it is, but — 

True. Very well, you may expect me at your office to morrow 
morning: 1 feel somewhat indisposed this evening — 

Miles. On account of illness, I dare say. Ah, well, that alters 
the case — 

Fenton. And we have other matters to attend to, Miles.— (aside 
Pj True) Now, Sheridan, remember the supper. I am sorry 
it cannot be avoided now, but you must face the inevitable 
with a smiling countenance, (exeunt Frere and Miles) 

True. Well, Lieutenant, what news of Lillian ? 

Glair. — None. The outlook seems dark, indeed. Having failed 
most signalfv myself, J have put the matter into the hands 
of the detectives, who will search Metz and surrounding 
villages. This is my last hope. I expect a message shortly, 
and when it comes, I shall bring it here, (exit) 

True. Matters are coming to a crisis, and unless Jerrold Quiz 
arrives with glad tidings from Metz, I am lost indeed. 
Meantime, while there's quiet in the house, I will seize the 
opportunity and rest : I will sleep off this horrid reality ! 
(exit). 

Enter Jerrold Quiz. 

Jerrold. He is not here. Eh! 'tis strange. The letter couldn't 
have been delivered. Maurice — that's his name -forgot it, 
I dare say. The lad's in love, and love explains most myster- 
ies. I will look around, I will pry within, (sees some one stand, 
ing in the doorway: he looJcs at her inquisitively for a moment) 
An ! 'tis Madame Hauteux ! 

Mauteux (entering). Jerrold!— (half-aside) Such horrors meet me 
every moment ! — Tell me, who are they that came with you 
from Metz ? 

Jerrold. I know but one you speak of. There are not two. 



45 

Rauteux. Strange ! —(suMenly) Ah ! you would deceive me. 
Speak and let me bear. 

Jerrold. I know it not. 

Hauteux. Then be off with you! You must not stay here. Go! 

Jerrold. So it please you, I will leave the room, but not the 
house, {exit). 

Hauteux. They are back again, those I dread and hate ; and 
with them comes another, veiled and silent. Who is she ? 
Who brought her hither ? Surely it cannot be — no '. no ! she 
is dead and gone. They told me of it long ago. (hears a 

noise) 'Tis his footsteps ! He is coming here — but he shall not 
meet her ! I will stand between him and his bride as long 
as strength abides (exit.) 

Enter True. Re appears to he overcome tcith sleep, and throws 
himself heavily into an arm-chair. 

True. It is useless ; I cannot get rid of these vile suspicions. 
(pause) They trouble me still, in spite of myself. I wish 
Fen ton — heigho! (sighs: his head falls upon his hand; he 
sleeps). 

Rauteux (enters quietly). Asleep? — May it be his last long sleep ! 
He has wrecked my life and passed me by. Deserted ! That 
is it. In my hatred, in my madness, I felt as though I might 
have killed him once — but— I thought he loved me. And so 
it was I drove his bride from home, and followed him like a 
slave, armed with his master's dagger. But what avails 
this cunning now ? Surely they will meet again, and mock 
and cast me out. Oh, how desolate am I! How utterly 
have I failed ! The very dart my hand designed for him, has 
sunk into my own heart. For him, the serpent's sting was 
harmless : he felt it not. The deadliest draught, methiuks, 
was turned to nectar at his lips, and the bitterest dregs be- 
came, when he touched the cup, sweet as honey. He is 
sleeping still. Oh, that he might never wake ! (suddenly) 
Nay ! he shall not ! I will freight his every breath with soft 
and subtle vapors. He shall die there and never know it. 



40 

Pleasant death! (faJeesfrom her bosom a vial of chloroform, 
and saturates a handkerchief. She brings it gently near his face ■, 
and then suddenly recoils). Let me think! What am I doing 1. 
(looks around cautiously). They will seize ine, and lock me 
in a horrible dungeon! -Ah, then, T will die with him, and 
as I came into the world without a friend, I will die without 
one. [as she lays the handkerchief over his face, Jerrold enters 
from a door near, and interposes a hand.) 

Jerrold. Not now ! not now ! 

Hautcux. Go ! You madden me ! — Ah! who are they yonder? 
(points at Adrian and Lillian entering. The former is array- 
ed in black; the latter wears any suitable costume. Heavy 
veils are over their faces). 

True {roused by Jerrold). Ah, Madame Hauteux ! {to Adrian 
and Lillian, one of whom he remembers to have seen in 
Metz). Come, let us enter here 

Hauteux. No! they must not enter. Let them stay without I 

True. But you do not mean that. No, no, come 

Hauteux. No! it cannot be. They must stay out! 

True. Pardon me, Madame, this house is mine. There is cause,, 
there is reason, they must ! 

Hauteux (placing herself before the door). Nay, they shall not 
enter ! 

True (aside). She is mad ! — {puts his arm about her J. Be it as 
you wish, Madame $, they shall not. — But grant that one may 
enter — only one. 

Hauteux (suddenly). One? — (looks at both closely). Yes, she 
may enter, (points at Adrian, who retires). But you (Lillian) 
— I do not like you — you shall never cross that threshold^ 
Go! (to True) I fear her! Make them go! — Will you 
stand there forever? (True waves them out, i. e. Lillian andl 
Jerrold) 

true. Come, Madame, why all this burning passion 1! 

Hautcux (incoherently). Passion ? — burning— passion ? — Look I 
Bid you not see that shadow form go by me I There I 



47 
True. Compose yourself; there is no ^one here bat you and me. 
Hauteux. It threatens me ! Do not let it touch me ! 
True. It shall not trouble you. See ! It is gone from out the 

room. 
Hauteux. Gone ! (suddenly) and the child! — Did it go with it? 

The little child that came from — (hesitates) from — Metz, was 

it ? — Yes ! and its name was - Nay ! I must not say that I 

(sighs). Ah, me! my mind grows dark, so dark. 
True. Cheer up, Madame, the light will come again. 
Hauteux (suddenly). There ! what noise was that ? Did you 

not hear it? — (listens). It was a voice— (suddenly) the voice 

of the child that I betrayed ! (wildly). 
True. You! — Ah, no ! Not you ! not you I 
Hauteux. Off! Do not touch me! You have made me hate 

you bitterly ! 
True. Oh, God!. 
Hauteux fan expression of sorrow comes slowly over her face, and she 

lapses into tenderness). Ah, but I am sorry now, so sorry j 

for I nursed him once — nursed Sheridan True, long, long 

ago, but he forgot it, and left me to die I 
True. Forgot it? No, no. Madame! He remembers those wt ks 

of anguish, and your constant love and care. 
Hauteux. Love! — Ah, yes, he loved everybody and everything 

but me, and I would have died for him ! 
True. Oh, cruel fate ! — Madame, he loved you well. 
Hauteux. He? Alas! had I but; known it. He is past my 

loving now : he is here no more — no m-jre. Did you krow 

him? (w:.p*) 
True. Ah, yes, I knew him long and well. But come, you must 

not weep for him. It makes me sad. He is not gone Lorn 

you : he is here, close beside you Show your wouiauhcod, 

and be yourself oiice more! 
Hauteux (repeatiny his words to herself). Myself— once — more! 
y (with a sudden fash of intelligence) Oh, that I could be now j 

(pauses) But whither are they gone— my friends of yester- 



4$ 

day ? They leave me, they desert me *ail liave gone ! 

True. Save one, ami he will not forsake you a* the ot liars. ]So I 
no! — Will you take his hand, . Madame ?.( 7<£ holds out his 
hand: she looks at him shrinkingly for a moment, and then 
takes it earnestly) You shall not lose heart, and hope, and 
friends together; but give me now your promise, that you 
will forget the past and all its disappointments, 

Hauteux. Forget iU— Ah, me I— resolutely) Yes, I promise 
you ! 

True. Audi will, never leave you, but will love you in jour 
pain and sorrow, a; you loved Sheridan Tru« Jong ago. (ex- 
eunt) \ 

Enter Nki4*. ; 

Nell. I declare, that child is worrying me to death, pulling my 
hair out. I'll tngage for it, the doctor is at his wits' end to 
know the trouble. He calls it dentitis, with malaria. What 
is dentitis, I'd like to know? Oh, here comes a strauge- 
looking lady. What in the world doe* she want here T 
Enter Mrs. Positive. 

Positive. Does Mr. Sheri Ian True live here ? Just tell me that. 

Nell. Yes, ma'am, this is his home. 

Positive. Ah !— Oo at once, and tell him I wish, to see him. 

Nell. What name shall I give him, ma'am t 

Positive. No name. Do as I tell you* 

Nell. None ? Well, it doesn't matter much after ali (aside) She 
seems to be angry with somebody, (exit) 

Positive. What does it matter one way or the other what my 
name is ? — If there is anything I do despise in, this, world, it 
is gossip. I abhor it. One cannot go anywhere, or enter 
any bouse, without being stared at, and talked about at 
every turn. The world is coming to a pretty plight, indeed t 
(True enters) Is this Mr. Sheridan. True! 

True. It is, madam. 

Positive. Mr. True, it seems to me you. have been actiag very 
queerly of late, to say the least. 



49 

Trme. I ? In what respect, madam ? 

Positive, In every respect. For weeks and weeks, you have 
not put pen on paper to that unfortunate woman, nor have 
you sent her a single franc to defray her expenses. 

True. What unfortunate woman ? 

Positive. Why, the woman in the hospital. 

True. I hardly understand you, madam. If you are here for 
information — 

Positive. There ! let me say a word. What have you done with 
that poor little child ! 

True. What little— 

Positive. Why, the child I left here with you four weeks ago ? 

True. You ? Oh, no, you left no child here with me. 

Positive. I think I ought to kuow, Mr. True. I keep a strict ac- 
count of everything I do, or have done. 

True. Pa. don me, madam ; but will you tell me who you are? 

Positive. So I will ; I overlooked that. I am Mrs. Positive, the 

Matron of St. Therese Hospital, Mr. True. Now you under- 
stand t 

True. Y-e-s, I remember now. Have a seat, madam, and I will 
explain everything. I received a letter from you to-day, 
which I thought was rather obscure — 

Positive. Obscure T Allow me to say, sir, that I never write 
obscurely. I pride myself on that. I wrote you eight let- 
ters, In which I gave you full directions how to manage in 
case of sickness and fretfulness, and after that, I concluded 
to come here myself and see what was the matter. Those 
i . letters have not elicited the slightest response from you, not 
the slightest. 

True. You forget, madam, 'jhat I have been absent from P^ris 
for several weeks. 

Positive. Absent from Paris? That is very strange, indeed, 
after all I have heard— very strange. Well, I was going on 
to say, that this little child was born in the hospital at 
Metz, and its mother, being very poor and on the point of 



50 

death for a long time, was perfectly helpless, aiul could not 
attend to it. Nor could anybody else, every nurse we had be- 
ing busy attending to the soldiers. But,as soon as I learned 
that you were her only relative, living in Paris, married, 
and so in a position to render the child some assistance, I 
took the liberty ot sending it to you, by Madame Hauteux, 
(who urged me to do so) because I thought, under the cir- 
cumstances you might at least procure a nurse, and with 
the assistance of Mrs. True, have the child caied for, out of 
regard to its mother, who was expected to die at every 
moment. There! I have relieved my conscience. 

True. It was sent by Madame Hauteux, you say ? — But I pro- 
test, I have no such relative. No relative of mine has a 
child for me to care for — 

Positive. As to that matter, sir, you may rest assured that Jam 
not mistaken. I never take steps of this kind, without 
being perfectly aware of what I am doing — never ! {rises) 
This unfortunate woman has now sufficiently recovered to 
take the t"ip from Metz, and I wish you to understand that 
" my intentions are perfectly honorable, (exit) 

True. Now this queer lady is angry with me because I have not 
put pen on paper to this "unfortunate woman.'' How could 
I? As I understand it, this little cherub is kith and kin, 
and its mother being helpless, and hopelessly ill, this eccen- 
tric matron "took the liberty''— however, I will go and look 
at him again.* (exit) 



*As was revealed in the first act, Madame Hauteux hid just sus- 
tained a great and overwhelming disappointment, and in the revulsion 
of feeling that ensued, she was quick to seize an opportunity of in- 
juring her rival, and thus revenging herself on both. The passions 
that swayed her then — anger, hatred and jealousy — have driven many, 
another to far greater crimes. Yetshe was hopeful; and in tnis fact 
there lies an apparent contradiction, or unreasonableness, in the 
motives that actuated her. In the first act, she was moved by vindict- 
ive passions, unchecked by any thought of. consequences; but in the 
second, when time had somewhat cooled the fervency of ht-r spirit, 
and when Adrian had not been found or heard of, love and nope 
revived again within her. Her rival's subsequent appearance in ber 
own house, shocked and upset her mind, which had never been stable 
from the first, and a confusion of thought was the result. She 
was convinced that Lillian had died : In the wildness of her excite- 



Esti:r Jeeeold Quiz. 
Jerrold. I s^e the matron of the nospital in Metz is here ! This 
very day she wrote a letter, sealed it, delivered it to me, 
aud then took leave without a word. Xow what did all that 
mean ? I'll go and speak to her. 

Enter Lillian veiled, She confronts him suddenly. 

Lillian. Come! Let me disclose myself at once ! 

Jerrold. Disclose yourself ? And who are you ? 

Lillian, I? You do not know me : you have heard my name, 
but you have never seen my face. I know you, though : 
your name is Jerrold Quiz, f Jerrold looks puzzled, non- 
plussed) 

Jerrold {after reflection). Did you couie from Metz f 
Lillian. Yes, sir. I have lived there along time. (Jerrold col- 
lects his thoughts) 
Jerrold (after reflection). Who brought you here % 

Lillian. You did ! (Jerrold again collects his thoughts) Don't 3-011 

remember? 
Jerrold (suddenly). Ah ! you know this youug ladv Adrian. So 

you do. 

Lillian. Yes, sir, I met her in the hospital yesterday. Oh, 
how can I ever forget her and this gentle matron ? 

Jerrold. Naj r , you cau not. She is coming now, aud let me tell 
you, she would not be here to-day, but for Jerrold Quiz. I 
brought her back under this disguise, and dispelled her 
doubts. 



ment, she was even eager for it : she presupposed it, and resolved to 
send the child away somewhere. Such a. character is by no means a 
pleasant one to contemplate ; and were it not for the woman's unset- 
tled faculties and passions, it would hardly meet with consideration 
or sympathy. In Madame Hauteux I have endeavored to represent 
that class of people who are flighty, changeful, and sensitive : who 
take offence quickly and violently, and who, fostering their own pas- 
sions, rush deliberately into crime, without any special regard for con- 
sequences, and often without just or adequate cause. It is this 
class of people— usually cunning in their methods— that puzzle 
judge and jury, and medical experts, in the criminal courts of the 
country. 



52 

Enter Adrian, in a new dress -veiled. 

Adrian. Jerrold, Jerrold, if you had never met me! — Oh, how 
nobly has be done, and bow deeply have I wronged bim ! — 
He is comi.jg, and I shall throw my anus around his neck 
(Jerrold restrains her) 

Enter True with the child in his arms. 

True. Here be is ! Look ! What do you think has happened ? 

All {crowding around). What % 

True. He has cut a tooth — at last ! (Lillian, seeing the child, 
evinces deep emotion, and goes off to one side, followed by Jer- 
rold. At the same moment. Dr. Quiet enters) 

Quiet. Merely den litis, or cutting of teeth, with malaria ! 

Adrian. Let me see! Quick! where is his tooth? (lifts her rei 
and meets True's gaze) 

True (looJcs at her in won ler). Oh-h ! It's Adrian ! Quick ■ 
take him! hold! him. Someboly — Nellie, where art 
you ! (Nell enters and talces the child J Oh, Adrian ! "hr 
last and best surprise! Who brought you back ! (point at 
Jerrold ) Jerrold ! Why, so he has ! My friend, I shall spt ik 
with you presently ! 

Enter Lieut. Clair. 

Glair. Oh, Sheridan, Sheridan, glorious news! My wife has 
been found at last ! 

True. Your wife? Where is she ? 

Glair. In the hospital at Metz . 

Lillian. She is not iu the hospital, but here ! (lifts her veil) 

Glair. Lillian— my wife — returned at last! (embraces her) 

True. I knew L ! I knew it ! It is my sister ! 

Lillian. Ob, why did you desert me in the time of danger? 

Glair. I forsake yon ? Ah, no! — I was taken prisoner, and could 
not come back to you. 

Lillian. Oh ! And when the enemy approached, I fled for refuge 
and support to a hospital, where 1 nursed the sick, till I my- 
self tools ill. (Nell comes near ivith the child, and Lillian 
evinces deep emotion) 

Glair. Why, what means this sudden flow of tears 1 



53 

Lillian. I can hardly realize it. That little chihl is mine ! The 
matron promised it should be cared for here. Do you not 
know him I 

Glair. I? Oh, Lillian, hush! — I haven't seen you hi a year. My 
boy ? Ha ! ha ! ha ! 

True. Yours, Lillian? Yours? Is it possible— your child? 
(playfully). Well, Lieutenant, I call you to account. Is it 
possible I have been nursing your boy all these weeks ? 

Clair. Do.i't scold, Sheridan, don't scold! I could not help it, 
aud besides, old fellow, I will do the same ihiug for you one 
of these days. 

Enter Fenton Frere with Maurice, who stands atNelVs side. 

Fenton. Well, old friend, thi- is news indeed. Young Maurice 
tell me you have actually found Mrs. True. 

True. She has returned, Fenton, after many days ; aud she is 
penitent and happy. 

Adrian. But no one knows how much I suffered when my un- 
cle drove me from his presence out into the world. Hor- 
rors on every side — 

Fenton. Very common, Miss Adrian, very common to every one 
— particulavlv to reporters. One can no more escape from 
horrors, than he can outrun his shadow on a sunny day. 
Now, Sheridan, you must acknowledge at last that you ap - 
predate the present of your friends — the span of horses and 
the carriage. 

True. If Mrs. True will let me, we will drive there presently, 
and embrace them all — I will. 

Fenton. Very well. And the little child— where is he ? 

True. Here lie is, sir. Take him, Lillian ; he is yours, tooth 

and all. 

Fenton. And let me have his name : I shall write his history 
bye-and-bye. 

True. He has a name, which I hope will honor him, and if his 
mother will permit me, it shall always be, 

SHERIDAN TRUE JR. 



